


Whiskey Dick

by Gilded_Pleasure



Series: Love Bites [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Both Participants are Equally Drunk, Brief miscommunication, Drunk Sex, First Time, Full Disclosure: this is about soft feelings., Oral Sex, Other, Penetrative Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Unprotected Sex, Xeno, Xenobiology, and bad bitches get the strap, and not wanting to admit you're falling in love, dubcon because drunk, have ya MET me, kustard - Freeform, of COURSE I made another xenobiology/magic system for a porn oneshot!!, the toybox of destiny, these bitches are switches, when inebriated chaos orbs collide, which is very!!, with all that entails!!, xeno sex feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilded_Pleasure/pseuds/Gilded_Pleasure
Summary: Red trips, falls, and lands on Sans’s junk.Just because it’s a soft landing doesn’t mean Red won’t stick it.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Love Bites [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906990
Comments: 46
Kudos: 187





	Whiskey Dick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceandsauce (Saucy_Bobbypin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucy_Bobbypin/gifts).



> This story's for Saucy, based on their ["Red Loves on Sans's Whiskey Dick"](https://twitter.com/spaceandsauce/status/1251111315197751297) tweet, which possessed and inspired me to finally become the limp dick I want to see in the world.

“fffffuuuuuck yyyyouuuuu,” Sans drags out admiringly. He’s not easily impressed, but anyone’d cream their huge basketball shorts at _Through The Fire And Flames_ 100% on Expert.

Sweating with satisfaction, Red tosses the unwieldy, guitar-shaped game controller at Sans. He dodges instead of catching it, letting it go _plap_ against the soft chair and slide to the floor. Sans suspects he couldn’t beat that _sober_ , much less off his face like he is right now. Doesn’t seem to hold Red back any, though. Goddamn.

His face had been utterly blank in concentration, liquor-hazed eye lights temporarily pinned with sharp focus. He kept sucking in breaths to hold for so long he’d been moan-grunting them out like a horny elephant, only to suck another breath in to start the cycle again, through the whole thing. What was it, like ten fucking minutes or something? Red’s clackity-ass fingers had moved so fast they’d seemed to blur, then just fucking _vibrated_.

Sans likes to think if he’d _wanted_ to pose a challenge, he _could_ have…if he was sober.

However, Sans is half-responsible for the half-empty bottle of magic whiskey on the half-busted folding table next to the couch Red’s on, as well as most of the beer he’s holding loosely cocked against his hip. Sans fingerbangs the bottleneck idly to make Red giggle. Has to make it exaggerated for the movement to catch his blurry crimson eyes, but...ahh, there we go. Predictable bastard cracks up every time.

Sans is beached like a starfish on some kind of weird leatherette beanbag chair thing. It’s way too big, suspiciously shiny in parts, and a skunky maroon color all over. Must be vintage or something because it’s still ticking, even with the dainty seams Red put into it when Sans busted it with a bum shortcut last month. He’s secretly grateful. He loves this monstrosity; it’s the most comfortable chair Sans has ever owned. It’s why Papyrus doesn’t try very hard to make Sans get rid of it, even though he says it’s shaped exactly like a poop emoji, doesn’t match anything, and takes up half the room.

Papyrus is out of town for one of his conventions, but Sans can’t remember if this one’s horticulture or action figures or wheat and wheat byproducts or whatever the fuck. He thinks Paps just likes to travel. Sans...well, not so much. Thing is, whenever he _does_ go...Papyrus makes one of their alternate selves come and “check in on” Sans. It quickly became apparent that Red was almost always the one who didn’t have anything better to do, and a while after that Sans got a whiff of why and stopped kicking him out. It got a lot more fun for both of them when they started secretly sharing the monster alcohol Sans wheedles from Grillby, or the smokables Red gets from stars knows where.

It became A Thing once it became apparent that Red fucking loves video games, doesn’t have his own system because he doesn’t want anyone to _know_ he does for some stupid reason, and he’s actually good enough to give Sans a challenge. Which, you know. Makes sense, since he’s also a Sans.

Sans knows it made Papyrus upset and worried to come home and find Sans in the same spot he last saw him days before, surrounded by sedimentary layers of trash. And Sans felt upset at having Paps find him that way too. Used to kind of dread it, maybe. But now Red just stays over the whole time, helps filth up Sans’s place, beats him at Guitar Hero, and steals his clothes. And Sans just…lets him.

Worse than that, he looks _forward_ to it. Looks forward to those unguarded moments where Red actually seems...satisfied. Like Sans isn’t the only one getting something out of it. Sans doesn’t usually think about that kind of stuff, and he’d never actually _say_ that to anyone...but right now, he kinda doesn’t care about all that shit. Which is _why_ he looks forw---

“havin’ a good vacation, there, sansy?” Red leers, weaving to the side as he leans over, like that’ll help his eye lights focus. Sans laughs at him, and Red thinks Sans was laughing at what he said. What a sap. “if i knew that sizzlin’ showcase would shut you up for a whole _minute_ i’d a put even more finesse on it.” He blows on his own fingers like a smoking gun, or at least Sans assumes so. Hard to tell with skeletons. Red snickers, looking around (for something else to throw at Sans, probably). “or maybe you just fell in _love_ , huh, starchild? whaddaya say? wanna make an honest skeleton outta me?”

“depends,” Sans drawls, then interrupts to take the penultimate pull on the beer he’s nursing. “you gonna put a ring on it?”

“the one i put around yer tub count?”

Sans makes a descending whistle and an expansive gesture….that ends with the circle of his thumb and forefinger directly over his shorts-covered pubis. Then he makes a kissy noise and wiggles his hand, gives it a little up and down just in case Red missed it.

“got ya,” Sans says, then blinks thoughtfully. That’s not quite right, but whatever.

“aww, i’m fresh outta cock rings too, so i guess your cow’s staying unbought. marital bliss just ain’t in the cards fer guys like us.” Red grins sudden and sparkling, like a set of mail order steak knives unrolled for display to the gullibly wealthy. “…i could probably go for some free milk, though.”

“that’s the…” Sans burps, startling himself. The pause extends because the volume surprised him, and he promptly forgets what he was saying. “that’s the best,” he finishes, satisfied in his commitment to positivity. Paps would be proud, but Red tilts his skull speculatively, eyes flaring.

“...that so. you ever fuck a skeleton?”

Sans laughs for real. Considering half of them look just like his brother while the other half have what amounts to Sans’s own ugly mug with additional flavor text, the pickings there are slim. Heh.

“wouldn’t _you_ like ta know.”

“that’s a no,” Red chortles.

“thass a ‘go fuck yourself’,” Sans slurs, draining his beer.

“best idea you had all night,” Red positively purrs. He stands, staggers, and flops over half on top, half to the side of Sans. There’s a _poff_ noise when he hits the beanbag chair, muffled clacks where clothed bones collide. Sans watches his empty bottle slip from his fingers, clonk Red in the skull, then barrel roll its merry way to joining the mess on the floor.

Sans blinks for a second, then absorbs that fact that all that just happened. He snorts. Wow. Those Sanslike dodging reflexes are _not_ online right now. Welp, lucky it’s just him and Red…and the whiskey…which he forcibly reminds himself he switched to beer FROM in order to remain “in the clear”. Sans shimmies around to see if the other beer’s in reach…and it is, but not with Red on top of him. At least he’s snickering instead of snoring, so that’s good.

“you’re heavy as shit,” Sans lies, bopping at Red with the inside of his knee. Red has some trouble getting up, partly because of the beanbag but mostly because of whiskey, and Sans is grateful for the extra time to compose himself. The wiggling’s turning out to be surprisingly pleasant, and it’s been a long time since Sans has felt the comforting weight of another body on his. The fact that it feels this good, even thought it’s _Red_ ….is how Sans knows it’s been _too_ long. Yikes.

Apparently it’s time to put his lazy ass back out there, because it kinda...feels like Sans’s junk’s coming out? Doesn’t have any of those throbbing-urgent feelings though, so maybe his body’s just being weird for no reason. Considering how much of the fruit of Grillby’s magical labor he and Red have put away, some body weirdness is understandable. Sans flaps down at the other beer again, but… Red’s still wiggling on him. They drank the same amount, but maybe it’s hitting Red harder or something.

“dude,” he says, patting Red’s hip where Sans’s non-beer-seeking hand appears to have been holding on to him, “d’you need some help or somethin’?”

Red finally gets up on his elbows, but the hazy leer drops off his face like a swatted fly when he sees Sans’s expression.

“shit, sorry,” he breathes, and Sans feels a sudden bolt of alarm. Red doesn’t _say_ stuff like _sorry_. “i thought you were into it, i, uh...” Sans reaches up and grabs Red’s shoulders as the alarm increases, frowns into Red’s face. He’s...wow, really sweaty. But his body’s warm, and still feels nice, and… ohhh. Uh oh. The hot, soft crux of Red’s legs is pressed to Sans’s groin, and Red sort of looks like he might puke.

Because he wasn’t kidding, and has been rubbing off on Sans since he landed on him. Which was not, apparently, an accident. And Sans….had no fucking clue, which explains the expression.

“it’s fine, i, uh...” Sans rushes out, tries to think of anything to say except the rest of the sentence which is _I liked it_ , “i, uh, liked it.” Sans winces, but Red seems maybe 10% less like he’s going to burst into fire and flames nevertheless. Or maybe he’s heartened by the fact that Sans’s state of being horny, lonely, and touch-starved is written all over his expression. They both take a second and look at the wall, giving each other privacy to reassess. Like pausing a game. He assumes Red’s figuring out how to pick his usual shiteating grin off the floor and put it back where it goes. Sans tries to replay some of what they’d been talking about before Red started humping him.

Oh.

Yep. That’s _exactly_ what Sans would say if he wanted Red to hump him, alright. And the thing is…

“i’m kinda drunk,” Sans says carefully. “you?”

“yeah, i’m shitfaced,” Red replies, sounding relieved. “guess five whiskey neat’s the round i get ta humping legs. boss’ll be glad to add it to the chart...” he rambles, getting up on all fours easily, because obviously he _hadn’t_ had any trouble before. Then he stops there, because Sans’s hands are fisted in the front of his puffy coat.

Red just waits while Sans stares at their still-adjacent crotches.

“i, uh….” Sans feels like he dipped his face in a jacuzzi, and it’s not all the alcohol. Not by a long shot. It’s just. The idea of Red getting any further away is growing increasingly unbearable, and he doesn’t much want to consider why.

“you wanna fool around?” Red asks quietly.

Sans needs to take a deep breath for no particular reason.

“sure,” he exhales, but Red waits. Understandable, after the, uh. Thing. “...yeah,” he adds, and Red lets Sans pull him back down. Sans can’t stop the shuddering almost-moan from escaping him when Red’s weight settles back onto him. It also reminds him of something else. “...hey. is my junk out?”

Red cackles hotly into Sans’ shoulder, turns to crack open a socket at him. “yeah, dude. that’s part a why i thought you were into it.”

“i was,” Sans says mildly. “i mean, i am? whatever.”

Red leers at him again, makes room and reaches down to palm the front of Sans’s pelvis. Red tilts his skull at Sans like he found something unexpected, then slips bone fingers up and inside his waistband. Sans exhales as he gives it a squeeze. Numb as shit, but that’s probably his dick. There’s also a chance it’s his partially everted genital atrium, but eh. Sans isn’t picky about what junk he uses, just lets his body choose. He’s good with whatever. Sans lets Red play with it, lets his hands roam Red’s bones and slip inside his shirt.

“want me to check it out?” Red asks, and Sans nods. Red pulls Sans’s waistband down. He seems pretty focused on his junk, but Sans is more preoccupied by how good it feels to actually touch someone (to touch Red like this, it’s _Red_ ), and to let someone touch him. To breathe air someone else already breathed (Red’s breath whiskey-sweet and smoke-bitter, a distillation of all these nights fucking around and having so--

“i don’t think it’s gonna happen,” Red says, and Sans jerks his eyes to his face, unexpectedly stung.

“hey...” he swallows. “s’okay ‘f you changed your mind, we c’n just-”

“what? no, _this_.” Red waggles Sans’s junk; Sans squints at Red’s expression to try and solve the mystery. “lemme guess,” Red snickers, “this never happened to you before? hey, i heard it happens to lotsa guys.”

“never...huh?” Sans answers blankly, then gets the incredible idea to actually look at himself. He feels another moment of alarm when he doesn’t recognize it, but…then he does, actually. The field of magic that holds his pelvis together contains bodily structures like genitalia in potentia; it emerges from between the bones when he’s sufficiently aroused. It can be shaped like any genitalia, but at this point Sans figures he’s seen em all. Including this one.

That’s Sans’s cock, alright.

Except instead of being a thrumming length of active, firm magic, it’s just laying there across Red’s phalanges like an iridescent condom filled with jell-o.

The _fuck_?

His junk doesn't come out unless he’s turned on, so if it’s one of his dicks that comes out…it’s already hard when it does, basically, and it always has been. Sans didn’t know it could even... _be_ like this. It’s just laying there like it showed up at the club, looked around, and decided to take a fuckin’ nap on the dance floor.

Sans looks back at Red in consternation. His usually silver tongue is as limp as his dick, and his face feels like it’s glowing like a neon sign.

“guess it hasn’t,” Red says in a much different (although still drunk) tone.

“sorry,” Sans husks out, “i, uh...”

“for what?”

“dude,” Sans starts, “it’s, this isn’t...” but nothing comes after that.

“whiskey does that sometimes. but hey, there’s nothing i love more than some limp dick after a hard day,” Red says, the ridge of bone over his teeth curling acquisitively as he ogles it, making the gold prosthetic glint. Sans flails out to facepalm him and push his smirking skull away, but Red slithers around it and takes his hand. “don’t take it so _hard_ , sweetheart. It still feels good.”

“you say _hard_ one more time, i’m slappin’ your shit for real,” Sans grumbles, then gives him an incredulous look. “wait, you know from experience? is this like, a _thing_?”

“uh, _yeah_?” Red says shamelessly, tilting his skull like a sweaty, toothy pigeon. “you want me to slurp that noodle or not?”

“whoa, you didn’t say anything about the bear trap getting near it.”

Red scoffs, then takes Sans’s first two fingers. He makes smug eye contact as he slips them between those pointy teeth and brushes the tips across his hard palate. Sans exhales slowly as Red’s palate softens and warms under his distal phalanges; he’s sucked fingers to coax his own mouth out for the same reason. When he’s ready, Red pulls them out to let his mouth drop gently into his jaw, spreading to fill the space in his mandible. While it usually happens automatically with the scent of consumables, it’ll also happen for sex reasons, especially with a little _encouragement_. Red’s took long enough even with the rubbing to make Sans wonder.

“yeah, guess i got some whiskey mouth ta go with your whiskey dick.” Red blows a proper raspberry, then works his jaw needlessly wide to show off the bloodred interior, settled magic lining that sharp maw as his tongue unfurls obscenely. The lining actually covers his bottom teeth, but not the tops. Red sets his own index phalanx across the points as he pulls Sans’s phalanges into his mouth again. He demonstrates how he can angle them so they glide on the softened roof of his mouth, but keeps them away from the sharp teeth.

“this like some kinda trust fall?” Sans manages, watching Red’s eye lights spread and dim as his sockets narrow, expression all sloppy-loose with more than drink. That’s uhh. Whoo. That’s really doing it for him. Red winks, then shows Sans that he can curl his tongue and _suck_ like this, and Sans can’t suppress his anticipatory shiver. Red pulls his fingers out with a pop.

Sans manages a foolish, overenthusiastic nod, and Red shimmies down until he’s kneeling on the floor. Sans’s dick rests meekly along the backs of Red’s phalanges where he’s gripping Sans’s pulled-down waistband, and Sans grunts quietly as that hot tongue touches his squishy cock. Red’s not hesitant at all, which turns out to be good since Sans’s dick isn’t as sensitive as usual. Part of it’s the alcohol, but he thinks it might also be its current...state. Red’s sloppy licks send Sans’s limp dick rolling, so Sans puts the side of his index phalanx and thumb underneath to help shore it up. Red grunts approvingly, then starts really going to town.

“fuck,” Sans whispers without meaning to. The vibration of Red’s low chuckle is even better….but not anywhere near as good as when he blocks off his teeth and puts Sans inside his mouth.

“oh, _fuck_ \--!” Sans chokes when Red sucks him, sockets clacking shut as his neck snaps back. _That_ makes him feel it, gives him that distended, throbbing feeling in his dick that he used to take for granted. Red’s other hand creeps up his shorts leg to caress all the way up Sans’s trembling femur, then expertly strokes the magic that holds it to his pelvis.

Sans makes a garbled noise deep in his skull when Red uses the tip of his tongue to swirl around the head of his dick, somehow keeping the suction nice and tight at the same time. He grips Sans’s ilium and does it faster. Now Red’s got some kind of washing machine strobelight tongue that’s gonna helicopter his floppy cock into outer space. Just when Sans thinks he’s about to break, Red switches to a few careful little pull-sucks that stretch it out.

Sans can’t bear it, he cracks a socket and peeks down at what Red’s doing to him. The slender, scarred phalanx keeping Sans’s cock away from Red’s teeth looks so delicate against him, and Red’s eyes are a crimson haze in his slitted sockets. Sans exhales a wondering moan; Red looks so… so _soft_ like this. So immersed what he’s doing, lost in however this makes him feel. Red’s skull tilts up at the noise, and his eye lights shrink into abrupt, accusatory focus. That wicked glance is his only warning; Red adds deep, slow bobs of his head that rub the bottom of his mouth in a firm stroke right up the underside, then puts his tongue to use again. Sans chokes on an overstimulated moan, his legs tightening and twitching aimlessly. Red hums at the apex of a pull, and Sans sobs.

If Red _doesn’t_ love limp dick, he sure knows how to fool one into believing he does. Sans is feeling pretty convinced.

Red’s fingers find his sacrum, and Sans lets out an embarrassing, surprised little squeak. Red _has_ to know there’s magic to be coaxed out there too, usually forming a tight entrance not...entirely unlike a butthole. And sometimes it’s a sea urchin-looking thing that likes to be tickled. Either way, Sans ain’t ready.

Red’s brow twitches at the nerves on Sans’s face, and he pauses.

“it’s fine, g-” Sans says quickly, then clears wavering magic to steady his voice. “go a- _head_.”

Red pulls off, blinks at Sans drunkenly for a minute while he gets his shit together. Sans wonders if he should repeat the joke. One of Red’s sockets is more open than the other. It’s kinda ~~cute~~ funny.

“’m not gonna jus’ haul off n stick my fingers up yer ass,” Red says in a plain, conversational tone.

Sans makes a weird grunt, words strangling out of reach.

“i mean, i’m jus’ sayin’? seems like you’re pretty nervous about that, but i don’t think it’s even g…” Red pauses to belch politely instead of just burping the rest of the sentence, which is how Sans knows how fucked up he is. “…gonna come out right now.” Red’s fingers click and clack around in Sans’s shorts just like they had on the game controller, and Sans shudders when Red touches the rim of one of his sacral foramina. “was gonna fool around in here…helps it along, right?” He blinks owlishly, tilts his skull. “no?”

Oh, it helps _plenty_ of things along. Sans just usually keeps them to himself.

However, it also turns out he also _really_ wants to find out what kind of tunes Red’s guitar-heroic fingers can play on Sans’s ass ocarina, and alcohol is good for _some_ things, at least.

“go ahead,” he mutters again, then lays back, spreads his legs, and shuts his eyes. He’s willing to take Red’s word nothing’ll come out; seems like Red knows his alcohol-related magic skeleton sexual dysfunction like the back of his….ohhh boy.

A good thing he braced himself, because Red handles his sacrum like a pro. Or possibly like a version of Sans from an alternate dimension who spends just as much time fingering his own pelvis as Sans does. Red teases and licks, clicks and clacks. He starts rolling his head slow and insistent, two fingers hooked into the lowest holes of Sans’s sacrum. He alternates caressing the insides and pulling down against his movements, using his thumb to diddle the tip of Sans’s coccyx. Sans limbs tremble and jerk, start to curl up as Red starts using his tongue again, keeps that steady, rolling pace. The pleasure’s weird, but also surprisingly good. Sans feels an oddly hollow tension mount like a vibrating string, Red twisting the tuning peg tighter and tighter until something finally snaps.

Red’s tongue flickers under the squishy head of his dick like a match under a fuse, and a slow, strange fire rushes up through Sans’s body. Sans’s breath jerks in and out a few times, then he hollers through clenched teeth, pleasure peaking as his bones rattle wildly. It’s there one second and gone the next, leaves Sans feeling husked. His sockets snap open and he jerks his head down to look at Red. His sockets are shut, expression smooth and relaxed as he lifts and ducks his chin. Sans feels suction along with the satisfied grunt puffing out of Red’s nasal aperture; Red’s mouth makes a soft, wet little noise. Swallowing??

“sh…. _shit_ , did i come?” Sans pants frantically. Didn’t _feel_ like he spilled, but nothing tonight feels like usual. “fuck, sor---” Sans cuts off with a gasp when Red hums on him sadistically, but the last thing he wants is to stick Red with a case of heart-itch because Sans is too drunk to hold his jizz. Red just pulls off with a smack, then tries to wink at him.

“eh, you’re barely wet,” Red grins smugly, the effect only slightly spoiled by the return of the wonky socket. He pulls his other hand out, pats Sans on the hip like he’s a used vacuum Red’s trying to pawn. “think yer too blitzed to make any, but i can’t complain.” He licks his teeth. “guess you’re pretty _sweet_ on me, huh?”

Sans blushes. He knows what he tastes like. Rather than answering, Sans grabs Red’s shoulder and hauls him up to kneel over his lap. Red seems surprised, but down.

“tit for tat,” Sans suggests. Red leans in to clonk their foreheads together, curls his pelvis forward suggestively.

“yeah? gonna see what i got in there for ya?”

Sans grins and wraps his arm around Red’s hips, slides his hand up his shorts leg. Turns out it’s a plump little cunt, nice and wet.

“nice,” Sans mutters, and Red shudders smugly as Sans’ fingertips dip into his slit and find his clit. Red’s worked up, impatient as he holds Sans’s shoulders and grinds on his hand. It’s fine; Sans can work with that. Red’s eye lights flicker away when they meet his; he huffs and closes his sockets.

“gimme your fingers,” Red grunts, and Sans curls the middle two up obediently. Sans lets out a vocal sigh as Red slips his unexpectedly snug opening down onto them. He’s soaked and fluttering responsively, but seems intent on doing most of the work. Sans keeps his wrist braced, lets Red ride his palm. He tries waggling to help him get the most out of his bent fingers.

“fuck, you’re tight as hell,” Sans mutters distractedly.

“ohhh, don’t i know it, sweetheart,” Red gushes, rolling his hips lasciviously. “guess it’s a real shame you cant fuck me, huh?”

“i can fuck you,” Sans answers without thinking about it, and Red giggles.

“what, ya gonna soft-stuff me and hula hoop us right ta heaven?” he pants, then laughs at his own joke. Adorable. “bones are fine when there ain’t no boners ta be had.”

Sans scoffs. “got a box in my room, take your pick.” Because bones to pick, or something like that. Eh, whatever.

Red stops humping and stares at him.

Sans stares back. “...i mean. don’t you?”

Red eyes dart to the side and back. “….yeah, okay.”

Sans takes longer than he should to figure out that was an answer to the first part.

“cool beans,” he says, pulls his fingers out and just hugs him. Red lets out a surprised grunt because they’re in Sans’s bed now. Sans decides not to rag on him too hard, because he knows it’s a jolt when you’re not the one steering. He goes for the box, but Red’s got him by the hoodie.

“lemme get a tickle at those ivories,” Red says, pulling it off and going for Sans’s shirt. “i wanna see how th’other half looks...” Sans shrugs uncomfortably, because laying there and getting his bones examined isn’t exactly his idea of… An amazing idea occurs to him. He reaches out and tugs at Red’s clothes, because doing it at the same time’s fine. He’s curious, too.

“tit for tat,” Sans mumbles again, gets Red out of that big ol jacket. He looks surprisingly frail without it, just like Sans. Maybe a little smaller even, he notes as they kneel in front of each other. Sans bends over his shoulder to check out the backside, and to discreetly suck his thumb and get his mouth to drop. Red’s bones all over are knobbed with scars much like the ones that are usually visible, and they taste as interesting as they look. Sans moans when Red takes his hips and presses his cherry-red cunt on Sans’s soft cock, grinds on him while Sans licks Red’s vertebrae. A little hint of how into this Red is comes across in Red’s magic, but nothing too heavy. Feels good even though he’s soft, almost like when Sans has a pussy of his own to rub on someone else’s, but...more muted. Red finally gives him a shivery hug, then just rolls onto his back to look up at Sans expectantly.

Takes him a minute, but he remembers the box. He hauls it right up onto the bed, flips open the top.

Red leans up and looks in, then skewers Sans with a look.

“you clean these, right?”

Sans is mortally offended.

“’m _lazy_ , not a marelev...malevolent dickstain,” he objects. “and, it’s, uh.” Sans stops himself from saying that it’s been a while just in time.

“been a while?” Red purrs smugly.

Sans suppresses a random case of the giggles. “shut up n pick a dick, asshole.”

“i thought you were gonna dick my cunt.” Red sasses and rummages, showing an inordinate amount of discernment.

“want it like this?” Sans asks idly, indicating the harness in the corner. Sans already committed to some exercise either way, and at least the strap lets him lie down while he does it.

“ain’t that gonna be a problem with your _si_ tu _a_ tion?”

“pff.” Sans takes that as a yes, pulls the harness out and flops onto his back to laboriously apply it to his pelvis. “this lil noodle? ‘m jus gonna tuck it back.” Red waits for the worst possible moment before tossing a dildo at him; Sans grabs the expensive, smallish dong out of the air regardless. Funnily enough, it’s one of Sans’s favorites when he’s on the receiving end of the toybox, which makes sense now he thinks on it.

“a fine choice,” he rambles like it’s a used car, “double density core, modest flare, a real bargain at half the length...” Thing is, once Sans has his shit sorted and Red’s lounging around impatiently, seems it _does_ bite in a little bit. Sans looks around for something to cushion his pushin’, and finds it quickly. Red quacks in disbelief as Sans snatches Red’s sock off his foot, then stuffs it down between his limp dick and the hard one he’s attaching over it.

“you don’t know where that sock’s been,” Red chortles, impressed. Well, he should be. Hopefully Sans’ll keep him that way.

“couldn’t a been anywhere worse than where i found it,” Sans mutters absently, looking for...there we go. Red scowls when Sans tosses the lube at him, but catches it.

“fuck that sticky crap,” he grunts, tossing it to the side. Welp, if he wants to make Sans’s job harder and his cunt sore, that’s his prerogative. “sure it won’t fuck up your shit?” That’s the closest Red’s come to asking directly after Sans’s wellbeing. The jizz must be getting to his mind or something.

“eh, i figure it’ll go back if i smash the shit out of it,” Sans mumbles, finally arranging his flaccid dick and the sock so the pressure’s tolerable when he grabs the dildo and jacks it roughly. Red’s all sprawled out, toying idly with his soaked cunt, and Sans briefly considers flopping over and making Red ride him for revenge. Then he recalls that sharktoothed maw sucking Sans’s fucking soul out of his soft cock and changes his mind. Never let it be said Sans the secretly salty skeleton didn’t give as good as he got. He clambers over awkwardly to crouch above Red.

“yyyyeah,” Red purrs and wraps his legs around Sans, sockets narrowing as his eyes expand inside them. He seems surprised when Sans reaches down and touches his plump red pussy, breath catching when his fingers slide inside.

Well, Sans doesn’t know how Red figures he’s gonna fuck him right if he doesn’t know the lay of the land. Sans can _feel_ with his fingers. (Well, mostly.) Angle’s important, and...yeah, Red’s shallow. No wonder he made that pick. Red’s shuddery exhale at Sans’s pleasurable exploration makes him grin, and he leans in for a kiss.

Pauses when Red’s eyes shrink.

Sans pulls back, blinking stupidly at Red’s nonplussed expression. Red’s sweaty and panting, and...well, Sans is still fingering him, so that makes sense.

“jus’ do it,” Red barks, blushing inexplicably. He yanks on his shoulder, so Sans leans in and does it. Once he remembers to mind the teeth, Red’s mouth is sweet and pliant, although the former might have a little to do with what Red was doing with it earlier. Tastes like Sans, and that’s pretty nice. He fucks Red with gentle fingers, notes the sharp intake of breath when he hits the front, the almost-suppressed moan when he curls his fingers. Sans pulls back and out to leave Red gasping, then hauls a bone leg up over his shoulder and lines up. Takes two tries, but he gets there.

“okie-doak, buddy. here she comes.”

“fuck,” Red hiccups when Sans pushes in, his breath going ragged as Sans slides back and forth to get the feel, make sure everything’s nice and slick. Be a big faux pas to catch Red’s generous labia on a dry spot and fuck them halfway into his hole just cause Sans is in a hurry to show off. But Red’s soaked, so he gets to work.

Red curses again, hands scrabbling at Sans’s shoulders as bouncy little thrusts hit the same spot his fingers did before. Sans hums, pleased to see his exertion’s already paying off. Red seems surprised, but whatever. Just because his dick’s not cooperating doesn’t mean Sans doesn’t know how to _fuck_ , for fuck’s sake. Heh.

Sans feels a little twinge of discomfort in the sock area, does a few slow, long strokes to make Red shudder and huff. Then he goes back to it, a sudden switch to make Red cry out. That harsh little rumble softened with pleasure makes it easy to ignore the bite of the harness, voice jolting free like Sans is fucking it out of him. Which he is. Red looks all flushed and pretty like this, brow creased like he’s desperate to eavesdrop on some terribly juicy secret.

Red’s pulling him down so he goes, changing the tilt of his pelvis to keep the angle as he leans in for another kiss. Red moans in his mouth, and Sans picks up the pace so he can taste that throbbing, gravelly voice again. Works like a charm.

“you been h-uh, holdin’ out on me, sansy,” Red pants dizzily when he breaks the kiss, sockets closed in his lolling skull.“y--, you—oh _hh_ h….” Sans is breathing hard, and maybe half of it’s exertion. Fucking takes talent, but so does getting fucked...and Red’s taking it like a champ. Words dissolve to whimpering; Sans sees the tension in his expression, feels it in his bones. Hasn’t even touched his clit, but Red’s getting there all the same.

“fuck yeah,” Sans grunts in admiring anticipation, feels it shudder up from inside Red with each thrust. He tries to keep doing what he’s doing, but now it’s…. it’s fucking _pinching_.

Sans is getting hard.

 _Now_.

With his dick wrapped around a used sock, stuffed inside a fucking strap on harness. Red finally opens his eyes when Sans makes a little grunt of pain, sees Sans wincing. Red’s pleasure flickers out like a broken bulb, changes to an unexpected degree of dismay.

“hey, w...wait...”

So much for the ‘smashing the shit out of it makes it go away’ theory. Sans is feeling pretty debunked about it.

He groans with defeat as he pulls out, clonks his face down on Red’s sternum as embarrassed magic seethes into his face. Still, he can’t hold in another groan, this one of relief as he finally jabs his hand down the front of the harness and pulls his aching, bruised erection out of its tangled cotton and nylon pressure-prison.

“guess i can’t win for losing tonight.” Sans eases his hand along his cock, surprised at the shudder it sends through him. Alcohol makes his dick numb, but apparently his misuse of it re-sensitized it right up.

“’s it hard enough to fuck me with?” Red asks quietly, something heady and raw underneath the words.

Sans lifts his face, sets his chin on Red’s sternum. Has to control his breathing when he sees his expression, eyes darting away like it burned him. Ok, he already knew it wasn’t rhetorical, but still. Yeah, Red wants sex, but he also….wants _him_. Wants _Sans_ , so he feels himself out. His magic’s active and interested now as Sans explores the hot, delicate surface with the bones of his hand. A fingertip tracing the ridges underneath the head finds tenderness; it doesn’t hurt right now, but he might’ve bruised it a little. Stroking lower down feels just as good as ever, and firmness pulses rock-hard in his hand when he grips it. It’s a fucking rager, to be perfectly honest, and it’s all thanks to how stripped-down- _delicious_ Red looks when Sans fucks him.

“yeah,” Sans answers in the same quiet tone, “but it’s, uh...” Sans totters up to his knees and shows him; Red’s browbone lifts. Turns out that noodly thing was the shitfaced version of one of his bigger dicks.

They look at each other. Probably a mistake, but now it’s too late to put the naked want in their eyes back in the blind spots they both guard so viciously when sober. Sans’s cock throbs with the hypocritical demand to be put somewhere tight. Although to be fair to it, Red’s cunt seems considerably nicer than being dildo-crushed roommates with a sock on the inside of bone-tight lycra underwear. Red, for his part, is just looking at Sans’s tardy boner like an oversize rat presented with the last slice of pizza on earth.

It is a remarkably terrible idea, and they are definitely going to do it.

“use a buncha that lube,” is all Red says; Sans just nods stupidly and scrabbles around for it without looking or moving from where he kneels between Red’s legs. Then he drops it, realizing he’s still got the goddamned dong-laden harness around his hips and quickly shoves it down and off. He grabs the bottle backhand and squirts the clear goo up and down the length of his cock as recklessly as ketchup on a hot dog Sans plans to eat himself. Then he stealth-splorts Red’s junk to win a little yip for Sans to giggle at. Shit’s cold. Sans crawls onto Red’s body and hunkers down on his elbows, then looks Red in the face. He really needs to stop doing that.

Red’s expression goes blank too late, and his clawed fingers scrabble through the processes at the back of Sans’s neck. He pulls him down, and Sans goes. Red curls up around him, tucks his face into the other side of Sans’s neck.

“don’t,” he whispers, but Sans can hear the plea underneath. Don’t say whatever he was going to. Don’t see just how desperate Red is to have this, same as Sans. Don’t rub his face in it, don’t make him beg. Red presses Sans’s pelvis with the insides of his shuddering knees, another silent plea. Sans lets his pelvis dip, brushes his length where Red’s waiting for him.

“yeah...” It’s Red’s shaky whisper, prompted by Sans’s hesitant rubbing. He presses harder and hotdogs it for a minute, feels Red shudder beneath him. He lines up best he can, but the first attempt slips away cause of all the lube, and Red’s tight even after taking the dildo. Red just grunts plaintively and grips Sans with his legs, won’t let go or give him room to use his hand. This time Red moves to meet him and the head pops in abruptly, making them both gasp. Red’s lubed to hell, but they’re a little mismatched in the size department right now.

Sans shifts his knees for better leverage, then starts to carefully unfurl Red’s tightness in back and forth nudges, slowly deepening increments. Red muffles quiet, indistinct noises against Sans’s vertebrae; Sans’s uneven breath hisses through his teeth. Not only is Red’s warm welcome enveloping his aching cock somehow even better than he imagined, there’s more than one reason Sans has so many sex toys. He’s heard exchanging fluids is as fraught and vulnerable for humans as it is for monsters, just in different ways. Doesn’t matter. As long as they don’t spill, it’s fine (it’s not fine, they just want it too much to stop). Sans shudders along with Red at the transgression, caresses what he can reach of Red’s bones with his hands to soothe them both.

Sans holds his breath and pulls back a bit, then presses in further to open up Red’s lube-slathered opening in a single, smooth thrust. Red groans and rattles softly. Sans does it again slower and deeper, grits his teeth for control as raw-silk texture twitches around him. The lube isn’t just to ease the stretch; it’s also a janky attempt to dilute their magic. It doesn’t, of course. By the time he hits resistance where Red bottoms out, the inside of Sans’s skull is swimming with their magic, heightening their pleasure where it mingles inside Red.

Gives him a sense of just how much Red likes taking Sans’s dick, fills him with the euphoric sense of wellbeing and closeness monsters get when they engage in heavy magic play. There’s a little growl from under him, though he’s not sure what Red’s picking up on his end. A noise jerks out of Sans as Red rocks his hips, creating gentle friction where Sans presses at Red’s limit, and Red gets even wetter. Fuck, he feels good. In a very expanded and mirroring-increasing sense of the phrase.

Red’s head clears first. He’s probably cheating somehow.

“jus’ put it _in_ , i’m not a fuckin’ princess,” Red says with hoarse bravado, wriggling under him. “fuck me already.”

Assembling words through the haze in his skull is like spelling a sentence with alphabet soup, but he gets there.“…didn’t hear you complaining earlier...”

“yeah, maybe that’s cause _earlier_ you were _fucking_ me. shit, c’mon, just...” Red angles his hips down, nudges upward to try and fit the rest in.

“hey, give it a m-”

“i was _close_ ,” Red snarls, then just reaches down and inside him, grabs Sans’s lumbar spine and pulls up. Sans’s gasp at the sudden pressure on his tender cockhead is drowned out by Red’s full-voiced, growling shout. Fuck, fine. If Red wants to walk crooked tomorrow (god, don’t think about tomorrow), Sans can oblige without _actually_ tearing him a new one.

Sans struggles up to his elbows, and Red finally lets him. He goes back to the angle from before while subtly easing back on the depth. When he tries touching above Red’s clit with a questioning thumb, scarred phalanges brush his hand away dismissively. Well, alrighty then. He’s the boss. What Sans is doing still gets Red nice and distracted from trying to make Sans break his pelvis in half on his cock, and also gets him right back to where he was in record time.

Except this time it’s _Sans_ in there. He can feel every twitch and quiver, along with the slippery friction making it much harder (heh) to concentrate. Red’s tight-shut sockets and lax mouth, every line of his face etched with sloppy, unguarded pleasure… it plucks at Sans’s soul in a way that’d be disturbing if he wasn’t shithammered (he’s sobering up, which probably why he _got_ it up). Sans tells himself it’s just an especially wet fuck. He _decides_ it’s that, struggles to reorient himself. Tries to look somewhere that isn’t that blissful expression (fucking hell, Red looks _happy_ , Red’s _never happy_ ) for a second or something.

Sans leans up on his hands and looks down instead, watches his thick cyan-yellow length opening up Red’s juicy little split-berry cunt. He can’t take it all, but he looks perfect just like this: fat, glistening lips spreading wide for Sans as he drives in, Red’s slick a translucent sheath on him when he withdraws. Sans moans at the sight, can’t help himself from going a little faster. A wet gasp yanks his eyes back up. There’s a split second of Red staring at him like a resurrected soap opera character before his sockets snap shut, but the startle makes one of Sans’s out-of-shape knees buckle, and he quickly redistributes his weight. Red’s face crumples at the shift, and he chokes on a curse.

It’s all the warning Sans gets before Red’s sudden climax tightens down on him like wet, heavy velvet, makes his dick ache sweetly like pressing a marrow-deep bruise. Red’s bones clatter and breath hitches as he struggles, but Sans sees him break. Red spills all over Sans with a raw, jerky shout, his come drenching Sans’s cock with Red’s awed pleasure. Guess Sans isn’t the only one too drunk to hold his jizz…but unlike Sans, Red’s not shooting dry.

“oh shhh _it_ ,” Sans hisses, voice sounding strange and high in his own bowing skull as he fucks Red right through his orgasm. Red _is_ happy. He _loves_ this. Sans is doing what Red wants exactly how he likes it, when Red would’ve settled for giving a blowjob that he didn’t get kicked out after. How about that. Sans moans raggedly with Red’s pleasure as much as his own, with knowing all those stupid jokes and drunken sleepovers mean something to Red, too. It’s all Sans can do to slow his thrusts when Red goes from moaning to panting, but Red twines fingers in Sans’s ribs, pulls him closer.

“keep goin’,” he slurs hoarsely, doesn’t open his sockets. “i got another on deck….”

Sans’s come-drunk mind can’t think of anything he’d like to do more. He huffs in surprise when he feels how the resistance inside Red has eased; trembling femurs pull him in because he can take it _all_ now. A shaky mewl escapes Sans as he hilts in Red’s soaked passage, again when Red tightens against his withdrawal. Bottoming out in Red’s cunt is _astounding_ ; each long, sinuous stroke from the base draws pleasure out of a place so deep and neglected, Sans’s soul shivers with dangerous longing.

“ _th_ _ere_ you go,” Red rumbles in visceral satisfaction as he swivels his pelvis to make Sans gasp. “ _thass_ it… _give_ it to me, honey...” Red’s grip tightens in Sans’s ribcage, and he snaps his hips up with a sharp huff. Bursts of pleasure light up Sans’s skull as Red grunts along, shamelessly fucking himself on Sans’s cock like he can’t get enough.

Sans loses rhythm, maybe his mind along with it. He goes hard enough to hear it slap, Red still moving to meet him even as he speeds up. Red’s scratchy, half-formed pleas drive thoughts out of his mind as he drives his cock into Red’s body. He’s so sensitive it’s nearly painful. Between that and his fuddled mind, it’s almost too late when he realizes something very important.

“red,” Sans garbles out breathlessly, “i’m gonna come, i can’t-” It’s gonna be wet this time, he can _feel_ it, and there’s no way he can keep this in. Sans tries to shift his weight so he can pull out when he spills, but Red holds him tighter, shakes his sweaty skull wildly.

“don’ stop!” Red gasps, his short legs forming a bone shackle around Sans’s waist. “fill me up, sweetheart...”

Sans probably imagined the _please_ breathed at the end there, but it doesn’t matter. Those words punch into Sans’s addled mind like an override command in service to the instincts that are screaming at him to do _exactly_ that. He buckles to them all, thrusts with punishing abandon until he shoves in deep and holds there. His astonished cry wars with the rattle of bones as searing white pleasure blanks his mind, and his hips press a suddenly gentle stutter into Red’s drenched-velvet cunt. Its slick grip pulls against his rocking movements, drawing out more of the molten heat already blooming around the head of his dick.

The bones beneath his twitch and heave, Red’s cries vibrating against his skull. Red’s coming too, the release of magic possibly dragged out of him by the flood Sans is fucking deeper _into_ him, or maybe he was just close anyhow. Sans’s skull swims as he moves to taste that rough whiskey moan again. Sans cuts his tongue carelessly on sharp teeth as he licks into Red’s mouth, spills everything he’s got into Red’s quaking pussy. Moans sob through his nasal aperture as he paws gently at Red’s mandible, kissing him deep and frantic. His final juddering thrust makes the last weak blurt of jizz overflow and slip out between their straining, heated genitalia.

It is, by far, the _best_ orgasm Sans has ever had.

Sans melts on top of Red as the weight of shared satisfaction presses him down, skull rolling off Red’s face to rest alongside. His deathgrip on Red’s ilium eases, but Sans’s thumb strokes into the magic holding Red’s femur to his pelvis over and over, trying to soothe them both, maybe catch their breath. It’s harder now than it was before, both of them struggling weakly against the lead blanket of euphoria that presses them closer.

A little side effect of coming on each other so recklessly, getting drunk all over again on their mingling magic. So Sans better get his dick out of Red before they get any more carried away, but pulling out is as difficult as that orgasm was good. He grips Red’s hip again to help him stay still, because it seems the difficulty is mutual. They carefully avoid looking at each other, just pant and sweat as they try and disentangle their bodies while fighting the natural drive to get even closer.

His dick pulls free eventually, their mingled come drooling from the tip in an iridescent line; it connects to a pool at the entrance to Red’s cunt, overflowing as he looks on. Shit. _Way_ more than he thought. The sight hits him like an overpacked snowball; Sans can’t resist cupping Red’s overworked, sloppy cunt in his trembling hand, nor dabbling at his slit to hear and feel how wet it is. Red lets out a faint whine; Sans scoops him into a hug and rolls them onto their sides. Strangles on the noise that claws its way out of him when the heel of Red’s hand presses the underside of his dick, rubbing him for the same reason.

He keeps Red as close as he can, letting them both hide their faces while they try to hold each other together through the dangerous wave of intimacy that constitutes monster afterglow. Sans’s soul roils with the desperate need to manifest, soaked in the kind of feelings he’ll never admit are there, not even to himself. Red’s gone silent, but the short flutter of his hot breath...he’s crying, maybe. Shit. The heart-itch is getting worse, not better.

And of course _now_ is when Sans bothers to realize he really could have just used a goddamned rubber, and this is why fucking drunk is a bad idea, and he doesn’t say any of that, because if he tries to say _literally anything_ right now all that’s going to come out are humiliating declarations that need to stay behind his teeth until he and Red are both dust. They just keep helplessly rubbing their jizz into one another’s junk, wracked with the excruciating drive to summon their souls and knock each other up.

Sans feels Red take a deep, bracing breath, and he whimpers when Red lurches up on an elbow. Sans can’t take _this_ , much less _more_. He sobs harsh through clenched teeth when Red’s tongue finds his collarbone, searches his vertebrae...then opens wide and sets sharp teeth there.

Dentalium presses slow and steady into slightly-less-adamant bone, and the sheer _release_ of it tears a shocked, warbling cry out of Sans.

It _hurts_ , the pain sharp and clear and bright. It slices right through stupid mushy feelings threatening to drag his mind below quicksand, drag his soul out of his body. Red’s free hand scrabbles weakly at Sans’s skull, guiding him to a spot on Red’s shoulder. He doesn’t need a fucking instruction manual to know what he’s asking for. Even if Sans has never done anything like it, had no clue this could help with heart-itch…Red just proved it fucking _works_ , and he’s not about to leave him high and dry. Sans feels rough, pitted scars under his tongue, tastes Red’s earthy-spicy sweat. His mouth gets wet with hungry magic, but Red’s a feast he wants to taste without consuming. Sans focuses his intent: he wants to _help_.

He _bit_ _e_ _s_ , and Red’s voice joins his. The relief’s just as good the next time Red's teeth try to meet around a new bone, then maybe _better._ The third bite to his collarbone is maybe as good as what they were doing before this part. Oh, _fuck_. Red slithers on top and straddles him, shoulder working as he rubs under Sans’s cock to work up the itch, then bites to release it. They indulge their fingers and genitalia in their magic, pull each other back from the edge with pain over and over. Sans, emboldened, puts his fingers back inside Red, savors his throatless purrs as he marks up Red’s delicate bones between his flat teeth. Red’s entrance grows shallow as it starts to go back from whence it came, carrying Sans’s magic with it to be incorporated. Sans mewls when those wicked teeth claim his broad jaw, feels the heel of Red’s hand clack against his pubis as his own genitalia retreats.

Red finally releases Sans’s jaw, nuzzles the stinging spot gently and then just sort of…collapses. Sans embraces his shivering, sated bones in one arm, paddles his leg to grab a blanket corner in his toes. He gets it and bends impressively to pass it to his hand, then drags it up over them both. Red sighs, and…

...snores.

Yep. He’s asleep.

Sans could do a lot of things right now, but _doing things_ isn’t really _Sans’s_ thing. He could _think_ about things, like the fact that that was the best sex he’s ever had, whether it could happen again and how soon, if Red’s gonna flip out about all this before Sans does or vice versa, or what the hell Sans going to do hide the marks where he let Red _bite his fucking face_ for kinky sex reasons.

Problem is, he doesn’t want to.

Tonight’s been all about maybe sometimes just _doing_ what he wants, instead of strangling himself on all the asinine reasons he comes up with not to. Maybe for once in his stupid bullshit life he can just cradle this sweet armful of Bad Idea and actually let himself _earn_ whatever consequences decide to come his way.

Sans stuffs the blanket in around them to keep Red balanced carefully on top of him, ignores the first intrusive tentacles of morning-after headache tickling at his skullholes, and decides that whether or not they make a foundation shade in “living skeleton” is a problem for Tomorrow Sans.


End file.
